Not Listening
by Hotaru Muraki
Summary: Oneshot - Daisuke's POV - My take on what might happen at the end of the series. Warning: death(implied) ...but is HE really dead?


Disclaimer: Erm, well... What can I say? I'm not that delusional – yet! ^^;; - to believe that any of the „D.N.Angel" boys or the (slightly mauled) song "Vincent" belong to me. Sugisaki Yukiru/associates (manga) and Don McLean/associates (song) are the lucky people who can legally lay claim to _that_. T__T

Warning: shounen ai (implied) – And if you don't know or like what shounen ai is, you shouldn't read further. Remember: you have been duly warned. Also I took some liberties with timelines and content/story of manga/anime.

Summary: While painting one fine day, Daisuke ponders why his friend chose to die. Yes, Satoshi's dead. ......Or is he?

Notes: Some things are too good to be passed up and used only once. Here's to the value of repeatedly listening. ^^V

                                               **N o t   L i s t e n i n g   S t i l l**

                                               by Hotaru Muraki

Some say I'm painting as if I were obsessed. My mom and grandpa are among those people. Maybe I _am_ obsessed – but not the way they're all thinking. Maybe I'm not and this is just my own personal way of dealing with what's happened. I don't know. And I no longer care. Not really anyway.

I'm sitting in front of an empty canvas, waiting to be filled, thinking about what I want to paint. No, not want to paint but rather _need_ to. When I realize that I'm all out of colours, I get up and wlak over to the shelf where I store my art supplies. It's a beautiful Friday morning. Outside, a sunny, cloudless sky welcomes gaily chirping birds under its atmosphere. The curtains are billowing softly, ruffled by the same mild breeze that gently caresses my hair. I pay no heed to any of this just like I ignore the paintings hanging or standing around in my room or the radio playing softly somewhere in the background. They're not relevant, not important. To me, _this_ is more important by far.

As I sit down again in front of my easel, I suddenly know what I will be painting. I begin by sketching the rough outlines first. Then I start to paint. And as the first hazy outlines appear, my mind slowly, invariably slips back into the past.

                                               _Starry starry night_

                                               _Paint your palette blue and grey_

                                               _Look out on a summer's day_

                                               _With eyes that know_

                                               _The darkness in my soul_

Why did you do it Hiwatari—no, _Satoshi_-kun? You could have dodged, you know. You could have avoided that last one if you had really wanted to. I knew Krad and Dark wanted their feud to end but... This was what that last meeting was to be about, wasn't it? Why else would you send me a note, set a time and place far removed from prying eyes? When Dark arrived there, Krad was already waiting.

_                                               Shadows on the hills_

_                                               Sketch the trees and the daffodils_

_                                               Catch the breeze and winter chills_

_                                               In colors on the snowy linen land_

I dip my brush into the paint again. Adding another blotch of colour to the picture, I can't but wonder what motivated you then. I know that _I_ just wanted to save my friend, save Dark... But I guess I was asking for something impossible, hm?

As our alter egos clashed again and again, I desperately tried to prevent Dark from seriously harming Krad. I knew that it was _your_ body that'd sustain the damage, you that'd be injured in the end. You must have tried to do the same. I could tell from several too-near misses Krad made. That – and Krad's furious face.

_                                               Now I think I understand_

_                                               What you tried to say to me_

_                                               How you suffered for your sanity_

_                                               How you tried to set me free_

_                                               I would not listen_

_                                               They did not know how_

_                                               Perhaps we'll listen now_

But still... All the times we met, all those museums, mansions, and other places. Even when I wore the guise of Dark Mousy, legendary Phantom Thief, _you_ always knew somehow when it was _me_ you were...looking at. Remembering our very first encounter as thief and detective, I can feel my face grow hot. Satoshi-kun, the way you pressed me to the floor......

_                                               Starry starry night_

_                                               Flaming flowers that brightly blaze_

_                                               Swirling clouds in violet haze_

_                                               Reflect in Vincent's eyes of __China__ blue_

...your body on top of my Dark-body, our faces mere inches apart. Motes of dust floating around, the moon highlighting everything and nothing. For too short and yet too long a moment, time seemed to stop. And as if entranced, I could do nothing but stare up into your eyes.

_                                               Colors changing hue_

_                                               Morning fields of amber grain_

_                                               Weathered faces lined in pain_

_                                               Are soothed_

_                                               Beneath the artist's loving hand_

When next we met, I didn't understand why you suddenly doubled over. Clearly, you were in some kind of pain but when I rushed to your side to help you, you just pushed me away. Inane though it may seem, at that time I... Satoshi-kun, I never realized before how strong you truly are...were. And at our 'professional' meeting after _that_, I learned a lot about you. How could I not? All it took was just one comparatively short encounter with _your_ alter ego, Krad.

_                                               Now I understand_

_                                               What you tried to say to me_

_                                               How you suffered for your sanity_

_                                               How you tried to set me free_

_                                               I would not listen_

_                                               You did not know how_

_                                               But do you listen now_

I dip my brush lightly into black, transferring a small amount of that colour into a blob of white. As I start to mix them, I almost have to smile at the irony. Everyone knows what will happen when you mix black and white, ne? And still people continue to do it anyway.

Once again, I put my brush back to the canvas, applying another spot of paint. Then I lean back a bit, looking at what I've done so far. Yes, it is finally starting to take shape.

_                                               For they did not love you_

_                                               But still, my love was true_

_                                               And when no hope was_

_                                               Left in sight on that_

_                                               Starry starry night_

Maybe you couldn't bear that burden any longer. Maybe you wanted all of it to just _end_. Satoshi-kun... You were tired, ne?

As Dark continued to dodge and/or counter Krad's energy-blasts, I could only watch from the back of my mind, helpless. Helpless to do anything, helpless to save—**WHAM!** Another hapless statue obliterated. I flinched – but Dark only laughed. He sounded slightly maniacal back then, though. Then, as Dark readied for a counter-blast, a thought struck me. No attack could have rendered me that immobile, that speechless. Satoshi......did you _want_ to die?!

_                                               You took your life_

_                                               As lovers often do_

_                                               But I could have told you, Vincent,_

Satoshi. . . . . . . . .

_                                               This world was never meant_

. . . . .why...?

_                                               For one as beautiful as you_

The canvas starts to blur in front of my eyes. Colours are running together, creating one humungous swirl of colours. I blink furiously. Rubbing the sleeve of my shirt over my eyes, I try to wipe the tears away. I succeed – only to smear my face with a remnant of paint. No, I don't care.

Sighing softly only to myself and the wind, I continue to paint. I want, no, I _need_ to finish this. It's no longer a question of 'coping' but of...what exactly, I'm not sure either.

_                                               Frameless heads on nameless walls_

_                                               Portraits hung in empty halls_

I no longer really see what I'm doing. Instead I remember each and every time we met, no matter the form. The museums you set elaborate traps in, even though you knew right from the beginning that it'd be futile. Ah, Satoshi. . . .

_                                               With eyes that watch_

_                                               The world and can't forget_

_                                               Like the stranger that you've met_

All the times you caught my gaze. The classroom. The store for art supplies. ...that cellar. The amusement park...

_                                               The ragged man I ragged clothes_

_                                               The silver thorn of bloody rose_

_                                               Lie crushed and broken_

_                                               On the virgin snow_

...the silvery-white energy-blast hurling over the museum's rooftop towards Krad's battered, beaten body...the exact moment of the impact...white feathers floating gently to the ground, their bright purity a mockery of snowflakes...you, finally, looking at me out of Krad's face...

Me, I still don't remember breaching the distance but the next thing I knew was _me_ – still in Dark's body – cradling _you_, your Krad-form while having to watch your life slowly ebb away.

As your beautiful, sky-deep sapphire eyes started to cloud over, you reached out, tenderly touching my cheek. Then you smiled, _really_ smiled. It was the most terribly beautiful thing I have ever witnessed. You were about to say something, lips opening slowly, trying to say—_something_. I don't know because I don't remember. Laughable, totally ridiculous, isn't it? ...But it's still true.

The next thing I'm able to recall clearly again is my mother bending over me, worriedly fussing around. Grandpa was just hovering in the background. He was watching me with sad eyes, though. I think he _knew_.

That was about ten days ago. I've been painting almost non-stop since. Am I trying to forget? Or am I trying to remember? I honestly don't know but I think I'm starting to scare my family.

Finally! My painting is finished. And about time, too. I'm so _tired_...just wanna sleep... Yawning widely, I stumble over to my bed and all but collapse on it. In what seems no time at all, I'm fast asleep. [1]

_                                               Now I think I know_

_                                               What you tried to say to me_

_                                               How you suffered for your sanity_

_                                               How you tried to set them free_

_                                               I would not listen_

_                                               You're not listening still_

_                                               And now you never will. . ._

An errant breeze strays into the room, roaming around rather aimlessly until it discovered the cloth-covered easel. Then it tugs, yanks and pulls until the cloth comes free, fluttering to the ground. Being bored, the breeze is off again, leaving behind the painting and the oblivious sleeper.

From the easel, an amazingly life-like blue-haired, sapphire-eyed boy, glasses folded neatly into the breast-pocket of his shirt, smiles ever-so-slightly at the sleeping youth on the bed.

                                               **O * W * A * R * I**

A/N: Ehehehee... That was a weird one. *sweatdrops* Anyway, in apology I can only say that a) I've read the manga only up to volume 9 and seen the anime only up to about episode 6 or 7. T__T;;

[1] Image that came to _my_ mind: SD-Dark and SD-Krad cavorting over the heads of sweatdropping & handholding SD-Daisuke and SD-Satoshi. (This has _no relevance whatsoever_ to the story!!)


End file.
